You used to be so big Hetalia:USUK One-Shot
by BeautysHarlequin
Summary: Rated K PLUS for the phrase 'Shut up', lol. Free from (real) coarse language/romance. An outlook on America's War for Independence, and Hetalia's Britain's/America's feelings towards it. In moderate detail, a good emotional read, an inspired and innovated one-shot. My second fanfiction. Reviews are appreciated and heeded.


**You used to be so big... (A Hetalia- US/UK Fan-Fiction by Dark SaRawr)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters, nor the idea really (inspiration through Hetalia episodes and Fan-made images). Writing and interpretation are my own. Hetalia is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya.**

* * *

As the rain pelts across my face, I grasp for reason as to why I kneel before him today. What is it that I have done so wrong? Was I that bad an example of an older brother? It hurts. The musket is grasped much too tightly in my hands; I can feel the dents the metal etches across my pale skin. My knees bury deeply into the tainted soil, my short blond hair hangs limp, and my dull green eyes are averted towards the ground in some sort of heart-wrenching emotion. What factors decide where I stand- no, kneel, now? How had he- the young child I had once watched over so protectively- become like this? My little brother, why is it that you wish to part with me so much? What wrong had I done to you, why is it that I am here, cowering before you and your mighty army? Why is this happening... America?

* * *

As I stare down at him amidst the rain, I wonder why it happens that I stand before him today. How did he become like this? Doesn't he know what it is to let go? It hurts. No wounds from our recent battle have been inflicted upon me, nor does my weapon remain in my hands, but just seeing him like this is depressing. My deep blue eyes are melancholic unlike normal, my bronze hair damp and messily strewn across my face, and yet I do not fall to meet his level. Why kneel when I can stand? I used to want to be more powerful than him- the young man who I had once learned from so attentively-, didn't I? My older brother, why do you cling to me so much? Why does it feel that what I am doing is so wrong, towering above you and your demolished army? Why is this happening... England?

* * *

Azure eyes lower and emerald eyes rise to meet. They are lost for words and reason; there's so much to clarify and say, and yet there is no point in expressing their thoughts. In this war for America's independence, England has clearly lost. They stare at each other for a while, reminiscing, regretting and remembering all they had done together as brothers until now... but truly it is time for them to part.

America slowly raises a dirty hand. The blond-haired man flinches at the finalizing gesture, drawing further into himself as he falls forward and his head hangs in ignominy, palms catching the ground to support his slumped figure. America does nothing to relieve his adoptive brother of his state, but it does not impede the onslaught of pity clawing at his chest. A flick of his lifted hand sends his silent army off; they turn in sync and disappear off into the blue steel night. America does not follow them yet.

England can feel the humiliation burning into him now; the sadness that partners abandonment and the torture that accompanies a loss. The emotions rise in his throat as bile, and he involuntarily throws up at the offending country's boots? America makes no action, and the absence of sympathy serves as the source of his sickness. He hates this so much, and still the question 'why' does not cease its torment. He absently wipes at his mouth with the sleeve of his army suit, gritting his teeth and staring with igniting hatred at the shoes of America. Questions arise to haunt him once more, this time attended with utmost resentment. Why does it have to be like this?! Why?! Why is HE still standing?! Why is he that much better, that much stronger? Why is he so... so..."You used to be so big..."

America watches gloomily as the other tenses at his statement, and then tilts his head back to look at him in surprise. The rain drips from their flaccid hair and runs down their faces as the two nations consider the silence. "You were so... huge. So big, and..." The sapphire-eyed man sighs, his gaze wandering to the falling grey sky above. "I respected you so much. Why is this happening, Englan-" "Shut up!" America freezes up, and then looks achingly to the down-trodden country. "But, England..." "Just go!" He glares loathsomely up at America; that gentle forest-green gaze that one smiled upon him with sweet tenderness are hard, pain-filled eyes that curses the newly independent nation's very existence.

After a soul-shattering moment of quiet, America gives the slightest nod. He takes a step back, hesitates... No reaction from Britain. Another, with a shorter pause, and then another, and another; his reverse walk quickened, but every step backwards was still unsure. America wanted this, but some part of him wanted to hold on. To tell England it was all another one of his stupid jokes and he really never would plan to leave him... but he was becoming stronger now. He needs this. He needs to leave England, and have no regrets about it. He really, really shouldn't. His brow quirks up in an upset expression, his hand shoots up and he stands straight in a salute, just as England had once taught him to. There is some sort of painful recognition that shimmers within his jaded gaze, but Britain does not return the gesture. Instead, his head just falls again, his drenched hair concealing his face. America slowly drops his hand, and knows all hope has been lost in regaining his older brother's affection. He turns his back on the country that raised him and strides quickly to meet with his army. Tears mingle among the rain running endlessly down his face, and he could swear he heard his brother, who used to be so big, crying too.

* * *

**A/N: So, the end of a very short story I wrote after watching an episode of Hetalia and receiving inspiration from many fan-made images. I'm a blooming US/UK fan, so this was a nice start for me. Although I'm in the middle off 3 TLoZ fanfics that I promised I'd let out a couple of months ago, I'm getting there. So please be patient and bear with my weird Hetalia cravings, and enjoy whatever comes your way. ^^**

**Also, this was originally meant for an exam narrative I planned before hand, but the story didn't match the stimulus they provided, so meh. T_T But! loves my stories (I hope), so not a total waste. Please take time to review; as long as it isn't a flamer, then all reviews are appreciated and heeded. Thank you!**


End file.
